Machines and Weaknesses
by Akihikari
Summary: Sometimes strength is the least of Horuss' concerns.
1. Chapter 1

_Machines and Weaknesses_

oOo

**Um. This has been up on Tumblr for a while so I just figured I'd upload it here as well? I dunno ._.**

oOo

When Horuss finally allows himself to straighten up, he pushes back his goggles for what feels like the first time in weeks; if the skin around his eyes is raw and bluish in the evening air, he does not feel it. A swathe of hair flops down immediately, dripping sweat onto his face, obscuring his rare smile.

A pair of metal gloves on the table seems to return the sentiment.

The hands that run along their gleaming surface - cautious and oh so tentative - do not tremble. His smile has faded already, his face now set and grim; he will not let himself relax just yet, not when all he has done is tighten the last screw. There is much left to be done. There is ___testing_to be done and the thought coils unpleasantly in his stomach.

___It should go well. I've taken care of everything._

So it should, and so he has, but as a gentle finger taps out a value of 0.3 on the little screen attached to one of the wrists, he can swear that his heartbeat is leaking with its sheer force. ___This is foolishness. What am I going to achieve by being anxious?_

His palms feel slippery in the gloves, sweat threading his arms as he raises one stiff hand to his face. For a moment everything is bated breath and faint nausea, and then he flexes one finger - just one - and the metallic casing pushes back with urgent immediacy.

___Not yet…_

All five fingers clench and unclench. Horuss does not need the pressure within the gloves to tell him that they are doing so with but a fraction of their usual strength.

A factor of 0.3, to be precise.

Slowly, as though in a dream, he grasps the handle of a screwdriver, then a wire stripper, then a single strand of copper.

He can feel it, see it.

_It does work after all._

When he slumps forward onto the table, forehead resting wearily on the sweat-slicked wood, he is smiling again.

oOo

"Can't say for sure, but… I'm guessing you've been up all day again?"

His goggles hang loosely around his neck, so he knows Rufioh can see the defiance in his sunken sideways glance - defiance that does not even belong there. He has no business feeling defiant when he shouldn't even feel answerable for his own actions, not before this___rustblood__,_ and yet… "Yes. I was working on something and didn't really want to sleep until I finished it."

There's a tight little pause in which Horuss finds himself wondering what to do if said rustblood asks him. Then he wonders if Rufioh is even interested.

Little by little, his thoughts have stopped making sense.

"Sleep isn't really high on your list of priorities, is it", Rufioh murmurs, a reluctant chuckle bobbing beneath his words. "Just hoping you weren't working on that robot."

Horuss looks away as a tinge of heat spills into his cheeks. ___That robot…_

"No, it was something else. I've been intending to get around to this for a long time, but it demanded more concentration than I've been able to afford of late."

"Oh?" Nothing could have prepared him for the hand that suddenly rests on top of his. His own hand is bare again, the gloves stowed safely away for the moment, so there is only a thin film of sweat between their interlaced heartbeats - sweat that, he realizes with a jolt, is not entirely his own. "What's got you so distracted, Horuss?"

He wants to sound irate when he replies. He really does. He wants to snap because it's ridiculous that Rufioh should be asking this with such earnest concern in his voice; ridiculous that, after months of laughing and hiding and breathless secrets behind a hundred trees, he should have to answer a question like this.

___I really don't want to answer._

"You should know." _You of all people…_

Then a little twinkle does surface in the brown eyes as Rufioh whispers, "Well, I'll try and find out sometime", the laughter back in his breath. That breath swirls hotly against Horuss' ear and he stiffens; when did their faces get so close?

_Don't… I'm tired, I…_

"Horuss."

He has been awake for not one day but four, the voice so close to his ear is raspy yet smooth, and not letting his head fall onto his chest is becoming a challenge. ___I can't do this right now._ There are many things he is still capable of doing, exhausted though he is, but staying aloof and seemingly detached from Rufioh Nitram at a time like this is not one of them.

___Maybe just this once._

___Just this once, I want to lean on you._

___What happened to being strong?_

oOo

And yet, somehow it's not just this once... It's every single time. Somehow he always ends up like this, a tangle of serpentine thoughts and wild emotion and terrifyingly, _wonderfully_ weakened heart, a second heart beating faster than usual against the back of his head and a hesitant pair of arms wrapped around him. Visited by that newly familiar sense of unconditional surrender that is as delightful as it is alarming.

Horuss lets his eyelids droop almost all the way down with some measure of relief, but swallows a yawn. _This is no time to sleep._

"Horuss", Rufioh is saying softly. "Horuss, doll, listen."

"'Doll'?" the blueblood mumbles, hoping that he sounds at least somewhat petulant. The arms around him tighten briefly.

"Erm, yeah... I tend to call people that a lot, huh? Sorry."

_I'__m not sure__ what to do with that apology. _"What was it you were going to say?"

He can feel the laughter rumbling in Rufioh's chest, and the hands that now cup either side of his face are warm. His head is tilted back until he can meet the other troll's eyes again; eyes that, like always, are laced with nervousness, mischief, and a smiling curiosity that Horuss never knows what to make of.

_I just..._

_Don't..._

"I was gonna say, next time... if it's not too much trouble for you, I mean... could I maybe have a look at what kept you up for so long?"

_Oh._

He is genuinely unable to keep the surprise out of his voice as he asks, "Why, though?"

A shrug that, again, he feels more than sees. "I dunno", Rufioh mutters against the top of Horuss' head. Everything is warm and he absolutely _cannot_ fall asleep. "Just curious, I guess. It's okay if you don't wanna show me though, of course... I just..."

_You... Rufioh, you—_

Horuss has little to no control over his rising hand. _I've lost control of everything. Everything,_ he thinks tetchily, as it comes to a halt just inches from Rufioh's chin; and between his hesitation and mortification, before he can decide what he wants to do, the other troll leans into his hand and presses an equally hesitant, equally mortified pair of lips to it.

_I don't even need those gloves, do I?_

Horuss can feel the warmth of Rufioh's cheek, hot-blooded embarrassment only just catching up to what he's done, and he knows he should be displeased – impatient, annoyed, any reasonable reaction after _months_ of courtship – but his own face feels distressingly blue as his head is tipped further back and his own lips are claimed in the quickest of close-mouthed kisses.

_Don't—_

"I'll need to leave soon, you know", breathes the voice in his ear. "Damara will be looking for me."

_Don't..._ "That's alright. Take care."

_...leave me feeling like I've lost control completely._

Nobody moves in the silence that follows. His hand is still pressed against a bony chin, exchanging erratic heartbeats.

_The truth is... with you, I don't need to feel like I'm in control._

Then he whispers, "Next time, I'll show you what I was working on." And the lips on his forehead curve in a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

oOo

He's just putting away the last of his tools, wondering if he should dismantle the workbench too—he has nothing else in mind as far as new projects are concerned, and the bench is an unsightly thing to leave in the open when not being used—when he hears it.

Of the several emotions that wing through his mind in one quivering moment, the first is joy; the second, dismay. With his back to the noise and no time to sort through his upended thoughts, he murmurs, "Rufioh?"

Silence is his only answer for a sweep-long minute. Just as he has begun to move again, shoving a wrench into the toolbox with a distracted hand, another twig snaps; his eyes catch a leaf or four quivering near the edge of his clearing.

There is no breeze.

"Rufioh, if that is you, cease playing childish games this instant."

To his astonishment, a faltering laugh does stumble towards him from behind the trees. "Hey, I'm sorry. I just thought I'd surprise you." There's a series of much louder crackings and rustlings and a sheepish face emerges mohawk-first, his hair in disarray and his smile absolutely lovely. "Forgot you don't like that sort of thing."

_Why do you have to put it like that…_

"It's not an issue of liking or disliking it", Horuss says stiffly. "There is little point in sneaking up on me for no purpose other than to dislodge my equilibrium."

_I don't dislike it, I just—_

"Also, you're here early. Is everything all right?" Indigo eyes move gingerly over Rufioh's disheveled appearance, trying to gauge how much of it can be owed to flying below thick tree cover. The rustblood's smile betrays nothing, and Horuss finds himself thinking of Damara Megido. _How much is she capable of?_

A single wing twitches in something akin to impatience. "If I'm here, everything's A-okay, dog. Not gonna lie, it's a relief, getting away from Damara… there's not much that could stop me from seizing the chance, you know…"

And the movement is so sudden, so very sudden, that their noses are almost touching in the space of a single shared breath. Pressed against the blueblood though he is, pushing him onto the rough wooden bench, Rufioh does not quite meet Horuss' eyes as he mutters, "And yeah, it's always good to see you, too."

Horuss feels his face grow warm at the sudden proximity of their bodies, but whispers with an impishness he had not known he could feel, "What an honor to be part of your afterthoughts, Nitram."

"Don't", his lover whispers back. "Don't let's, you know I didn't mean it like that." _You really have no talent for the games that matter, do you?_ "You said you'd show me what you were working on, Horuss."

_Something that means nothing when I am with you._

The thought of unpinning himself from the arms that cage him to his workbench, of moving away from the dancing warmth of Rufioh's breath, has never seemed more unwelcome.

"It's of no importance", he says plaintively. "We can look at that later if you'd like." _Do you really want to move…?_

But the relief that crosses the other troll's face, though fleeting, is obvious. "I might not have time later", Rufioh says feebly, while the roaming of his hands says otherwise and the heat—the heat of undeniable arousal that pools thick in the space between them—is not Horuss' alone.

Bare hands skim over clothed skin and leave sparks in every trembling joint; his words, halting and hesitant, have lost all direction. "I keep having to cut things short, so… I'm sorry about that, doll, I really am…"

"If you know you don't have much time", the blueblood hisses, trying to will away the irrepressible southward surge of blood, "would you honestly rather spend it looking at _machines?_"

_It doesn't matter, none of it matters except you._

_What happened to being strong?_

Rufioh casts a glance at their straining bulges and lets out a helpless chuckle, leaning in for a kiss at last. "I guess not."

oOo

The first thing he is aware of is not his own breath but Rufioh's, tangling in the nape of his neck, giving way to warm lips and a warmer tongue and words that burn against his skin.

"Horuss."

_Rufioh,_ he tries to say in response, but the name slips voicelessly from his mouth and is lost in a most undignified gasp as a hand makes itself known between his thighs.

His arms are around Rufioh's neck, fingers sunk deep into red-tipped hair with practiced urgency; his legs have long parted to accommodate his lover as he stands between them; touch meets touch in the sliding of their bodies, their synchronized heartbeats.

Fluttering pulses twirl beneath their skin, taut like bowstrings.

"Horuss."

One hand travels the length of his thigh, the other dips below his waistband and brushes against bare skin. _Why is my chest bare…?_

_Rufioh,_ he tries to say again, but this time it's a kiss that swallows his voice—a hesitant yet deliriously needy tongue moving against his own, mirroring the texture of the touches he feels below. Fiery fingertips moving closer to where the pulse is most demanding, most insistent… circling the base once, twice, before dipping further south to tease the wetness that throbs there.

Horuss feels his spine curl into itself, his grip on Rufioh's hair tightening, pulling the rustblood closer until their exposed bulges grind against each other. "Rufioh", he manages at last, strengthened by the mewling groan this movement elicits from his lover, "If… if you do not get on with it, I…"

"Got it", the voice in his hear whispers, husky and petal-soft and so very breathless. _Why… why when all I can feel is your breath, your touch…_

_Touch me,_

He lifts his hips and his pants are slid off in the second it takes for him to force his eyes open, to give Rufioh one blazing look of purest, most unabashed need before slamming their mouths together and pulling him down. The table feels cool beneath his fevered, sweat-slicked, gloriously naked skin as his arms tighten.

_Take me…_

"E-easy there, doll!" Rufioh gasps. He's shaking too, Horuss can feel it now; feel it flow like electricity in his own veins from his arms to the very roots of his hair. His legs rise of their own accord to wrap themselves around the rustblood's waist, his mind already shattering, a heap of fragile pleas and frantic heartbeat under his lover's warm gaze.

And it grows ever warmer as he's taken, inch by pulsating inch, shudder by overwhelmed shudder. Pressed into with increasing roughness, little more than sensitive skin and a single low moan; all strength, all control long forgotten. All strength meaningless as he clenches and throbs around the girth of the bulge inside him.

Movement that ebbs and peaks and swirls, sometimes fast, sometimes agonizingly slow; sometimes hard enough that their world seems to fray at the seams, and always, _always_ blazing with the familiar warmth that can never be anything but Rufioh.

_I don't need_

A voice that cracks with the weight of its own emotion, tattered rhythm and mounting need.

_to feel_

He's lost. Thrusts begin to pile atop another and the world is nothing else, the world is the liquid groans in the air and unbridled bucking between his legs, the hand in his hair and the lips on his neck and Rufioh, always Rufioh…

_in control._

Faster still, and the little coherence he's held on to goes up in flames.

"Rufioh—"

It's all he can say before his limbs seize up in one final swell of pleasure that overtakes all thought; sensation spills over, then melts into sticky wetness; once, twice, and thrice with the new blossoming heat inside of him.

Ragged breathing washes over his face. He's kissed again, slowly this time, with quivering lips and a tenderness that causes his still-dazed heart to ache deeper than he's ever known.

"Horuss", Rufioh whispers into the space where their breaths fight for stability. And although he's regained his thoughts and his vision no longer swims before him, Horuss has no desire to fight the faint smile that rises to his lips.

_I was never in control, and it never mattered._

_What happened to being strong?_

Gasping laughter, two heartbeats locked together, and unending kisses: their thoughtless, boundless secret. _Rufioh happened._

A rustle of his wings and one roguish smile.

"Horuss."

oOo

**...This doesn't read like smut at all does it ._. I am thoroughly displeased with my porning abilities atm urghle**


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